Scars
by whateves
Summary: . . .something in his eyes said there was something else. Was it sadness? Or fear? Maybe a bit of both, Harry couldn’t tell. (rated for language)
1. A Peaceful Introduction

Author's Note: This is very important – this story may not have an ending! The explanation to why is a bit complicated, but whatever. Enjoy or destroy what I do put up, and hopefully you'll get a conclusion! 

Disclaimer: I own none of this, JKR does.

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It was another hot July day. The sun shone brightly against the blue sky above the Burrow. Charlie Weasley sat in the backyard of his parents' home, shielding his eyes from the blazing orange light overhead. He was staring intently at a tree, apparently deep in thought. And for good reason.

The world was changing quickly. News of You-Know-Who's return spread like wildfire through the wizarding world, not that anyone expected differently. People were in a complete state of…state of what? Shock? Panic? Disbelief? Well, whatever they may have been feeling, most of them were confused, at least. While friends, family and acquaintances said the rumors were true, most Ministry officials insisted that that's all it was; rumors. Of course, Charlie knew the truth. His younger brother's best friend, Harry Potter, had been there, and all the Weasley's treated Harry like a family member, like a Weasley. Not believing him would be like betraying him. And if there was one thing his family could not do, it was betray another Weasley.

So it was true, what they had all feared. The Dark Lord had returned, as strong and as powerful as he had ever been. Charlie and his brother Bill moved in with their family, just to be with them. Well, among other reasons…

It seemed a bit cramped at first, but with a little magic, all was sorted out. To Charlie, it had felt wonderful to be home. They were a family again. They bickered, they laughed, they argued.

Most importantly, they were happy.

That afternoon Harry and Ron's other best friend, Hermione Granger, were arriving for their customary stay at the Burrow for the remainder of the summer. Everyone was bustling about the house, getting things prepared, and Charlie had snuck outside for a moment of solitude to just think. Unlike most of his family, he didn't like ignoring serious things. He wanted to think about his life, about his priorities, so he stole away, not unnoticed.

"What are you doing out here?" Ron asked, walking up behind his brother, who jumped.

"Shit, Ron! Don't sneak up on a person like that!"

"Sorry," Ron shrugged. "You didn't answer my question. You actually sort of resembled someone _thinking_. It scared me."

Charlie swatted the 15 year olds arm.

"Well, I was. But it doesn't matter. Are they here yet?"

"Nope. Should be any minute now," Ron hoped Charlie hadn't noticed the tone he used. But nothing gets by Charlie Weasley.

"What's up, Ron? Something going on?" Ron shook his head.

"No, not really. Harry's just been acting a bit stupid, but it's nothing I can't handle."

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"Harry? Acting stupid? I thought that was your job. How is he acting stupid?"

"It's nothing, really!" Charlie gave Ron one of those looks. "He's just…he didn't want to come this summer. He said he's caused enough families problems. I argued with him for saying it, and insisted he come, but it won't make any difference. He's depressed, and rightly so, though I hate to admit it."

"There really isn't much we can do about it except be there for him, I guess." Ron nodded in agreement, but there was something else going on, Charlie could tell. 

"Charlie! Ron! Harry's here and Hermione will be any minute! Come inside!" Mrs Weasley's voice carried over to them. The brothers started walking towards the house. As they did so, Charlie glanced at Ron and noticed something he hadn't before.

"Ron," he began, halfway to the backdoor, "Why are you wearing that?" Ron had on a black, long sleeved shirt, much to heavy for such heat.

"Hmm? Oh, I dunno. I'm not hot, that's all." That didn't seem right, somehow. 

Shrugging, Charlie pushed open the door and let Ron in before him. He really couldn't think about it, though he wanted to, because the next thing he knew, he was hearing a bunch other voices and staring at a jumble of red hair, with a bit of bushy brown and messy black.

***

Harry hadn't really expected all of the Weasley's to greet him when he stepped out of the fireplace. Ron hadn't mentioned Bill and Charlie visiting, so he was shocked when he found out they had actually moved back in. It wasn't a disappointing surprise, anyways. In fact, he was rather happy. The more people, the less chance he'd spend all his time alone, brooding, as he had done so much of at the Dursley's. 

"Good to see you, Harry. I hope your well?" Percy smiled at him from the kitchen table, peering over the newspaper he was reading. Harry opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted. 

"Harry! You're here!" George said in surprise, walking into the kitchen. Fred was right behind.

"We've got loads of…books to show you later, if you want," Fred smiled, a smile that told Harry he was not in fact referring to books. 

_Probably Weasley's Wizard Wheezes,_ Harry thought, grinning.

Ginny walked into the room then, carrying a book. She noticed Harry, and jumped a little. Smiling, she shook her head.

"Harry, you scared me. I didn't know you were there. Good to see you though. It's nice you're. . . it's good you're here. For the whole family, I mean." Harry couldn't help but smile, and, to even his surprise, blush a bit (which was funny because, for the first time, Ginny wasn't). He didn't think much of it, though, and thankfully, no one else noticed.

Bill, who was reading over Percy's shoulder, forced a smile.

"Alright Harry?" he asked. He had been one of the three Weasley's to have been there last year, during the third task.

"Yeah, thanks." It wasn't a complete lie. He certainly was better now that he was at Ron's house. 

_Where IS Ron?_ he wondered. He didn't have time to speculate, however, because he was soon swept up in a huge hug from Mrs Weasley.

"Oh Harry! You're here! I'm so glad!" She pulled away and looked down at him, tears in her eyes. She seemed determined not to cry, however, so she smiled and hugged him once more. "I heard you weren't planning on coming. I'd have went straight to your house and dragged you here myself, if you hadn't." Harry made a mental note to kick Ron later.

Mr Weasley gently pulled his wife away from Harry, then clapped him on the shoulder.

"Glad you could make it," he said simply. 

"Charlie! Ron! Harry's here and Hermione will be any minute! Come inside!" Mrs Weasley called out the back door. As if on cue, there was a small noise in the fireplace, and Hermione stumbled out, coughing slightly. Harry was practically tossed aside as Hermione received a greeting not unlike his own. He noticed, while Hermione was being hugged (or strangled) by Mrs Weasley, that Ron and Charlie had come inside. Charlie waved and mouthed the word 'hi', and Ron grinned in his lop sided sort of way. Harry mimicked Charlie, mouthing 'hello' to them and waving. 

Finally, after what felt like ages, the three were able to tear themselves away from the family, claiming they needed to drop Harry's and Hermione's stuff upstairs. They didn't say a word to each other until they were in Ron's room, and Ron had shut the door.

"You told your mum I didn't plan on coming this summer?" Harry asked, not so much in an angry way.

"Actually, I mentioned it to Bill or something a few days ago. Word gets around in this family, it seems," Ron shrugged, "Besides, you were the one being a prat about it!" 

"Wait, what's going on? You weren't going to come, Harry?"

Harry sighed "Look, I wasn't in the best of moods, I was upset about. . .well, you know-"

Hermione smiled sympathetically, and interrupted him. "Yes, we get it Harry. Just so long as you're here now, that's all that matters. _Right_ Ron?" Hermione said the last part very pointedly.

_Let it pass this time, Ron. He's been through a lot. Let it pass,_ she thought to herself, staring at the red head. He sighed, but nodded.

"So, how come you didn't mention Bill and Charlie moving in?" Hermione asked, desperate for a change of conversation.

"…I did. I sent you both letters about it. Didn't you get them?" Ron asked, blushing ever so slightly and averting his eyes to look down at Pig, who was making a hell of a lot of noise.

Hermione turned to Harry, a confused look on her face. He shook his head, and they both looked at Ron.

"Um, neither of us got them Ron."

"Did you use Errol?" 

Ron laughed. "No, I used this little bugger. Figures he'd screw it up. Doesn't take anything seriously, this one."

"Sounds like you," Harry said, and Hermione giggled. Ron glanced up at them, looking as though he was going to say something back, but ended up smiling as well.

The three of them spent the rest of the day in Ron's room, catching up. Not that they had much catching up to do, but it's what they told the other Weasley's, so they wouldn't be disturbed. Really, they spent the time lounging around, discussing things like Quidditch and school, playing Exploding Snap, that sort of thing. It was nice, to be able to stay with each other and not have to think about the war, which was sure to come.

They didn't go downstairs until dinner, and afterwards they went right back up. Around midnight, Mr and Mrs Weasley crept up to see if they were alright, and found the three asleep, still dressed. Ron and Harry were on the floor, Quidditch Through the Ages in front of them, and Hermione on the bed, her head resting on a book.

Feeling they looked too peaceful to disturb, the married couple left for their own room, smiling.


	2. Ron's Clothes

Hermione was the first of the three to wake the next day.The remnants of a distant dream faded slowly, and realization of where she was dawned. The Burrow. Ron's house. Ron's room, where she had spent the night. She blushed a little, and pushed herself to a sitting position. Glancing down, she saw Harry, lying on his side, and the previously mentioned redhead lying on his stomach. Both were sound asleep on the floor. Harry's glasses were askew, and Ron's shirt was up slightly, revealing his lower back. This made Hermione blush again, though she couldn't say why. 

_It's just skin, _she reminded herself, which, funnily enough, caused her to blush even more.

She slipped off the bed and leaned forward to wake them up, when something caught her eye. On Ron's back there was a thin, pinkish line, much resembling a scar.

_That's strange,_ she thought to herself. Maybe it wasn't a scar; maybe it was a birthmark...

Nervously, she reached out her hand and touched it gently, so as not to wake him. She felt the groove, indicating it was indeed a scar. A thousand unpleasant thoughts flowed through her head, but she shrugged them aside, deciding that it must have been caused by a childhood accident long forgotten.

She decided to change her clothes before waking up the boys. She slipped out of the room and into Ginny's, where her trunk had been placed. She found Ginny's bed empty, which didn't surprise her much. Ginny was a morning person (much to Ron's displeasure because, unfortunately, he was not). Hermione pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then headed back up to Ron's room. 

Rousing the two boys out of sleep turned out to be quite a difficult task. 

"Harry, Ron, get up," she said. She was sitting between them, a hand on either shoulder, gently shaking them.

"Go 'way," Harry muttered, turning onto his other side. 

"C'mon, rise and shine!"

"Mmmph…" Ron mumbled into his sleeve. Hermione roughly jabbed the two in their ribs.

"Up. Now." She said. Ron lifted his head to glare at Hermione, as Harry half-heartedly pushed her away (which barely caused her to stir). Finally accepting defeat, the boys pushed themselves up, clearly using all the strength they could muster.

"What time is it?" Harry asked, squinting and fixing his glasses.

"8 o'clock. Your mum's probably making breakfast already, Ron."

"Mmm hmm…"Ron rubbed at his eyes. "You know, most teenagers use their vacation as an excuse to, oh, I don't know, _sleep in_, maybe?"

"Well, I'm not like 'most teenagers'. You should know that by now. Neither are the two of you, come to that. Now, I want you dressed and downstairs in five minutes. Move!" And with that, Hermione was up and out the door.

Ron turned to look at Harry, who shook his head.

"That's Hermione for you," he said simply, and Ron smiled.

Not wanting to upset her, the two began to change. It was when Ron had just tossed his shirt into the corner of the room that Harry turned, intending only to ask him a question. Instead, he stopped. Ron's back was to him, and Harry saw not only the scar Hermione had noticed earlier, but a few others as well. Not many, just 4 or 5 small ones in very odd, apparently random places on his back, along with another, longer one on his lower left arm. Harry furrowed his brow, concern written all over his face. Ron pulled his shirt over his head. Again, it was long sleeved, though Harry now had an idea as to why. 

Seeing Ron about to face him, Harry quickly turned away.

"Well, I'm all set. C'mon, before Hermione throws a fit."

"Uh…yeah, ok," Harry answered distractedly.

"You alright there?" Ron asked, walking around to stand in front of his friend. Harry nodded.

"I'm fine. Just half asleep I s'pose." He quickly pulled his own shirt over his head. "Ron, why are you dressed so warmly, exactly? It _is_ summer, you know." Ron smiled, and it _seemed _natural. So much so, that Harry wouldn't have even noticed the slight strain in it had he not seen those scars.

"The heat doesn't bother me much." Harry eyed him doubtfully. "Really Harry, I'm ok. Now let's get downstairs." Without another word, Ron turned and left the room. Sighing, Harry followed suit. 

***

After a lovely (and rather large) breakfast, Harry, Hermione and all of the Weasley's, with the exception of Percy, Arthur and Molly, headed outside. The boys all played Quidditch (Charlie, Fred and George against Bill, Ron and Harry), but Ginny decided to keep Hermione company, seeing as Hermione absolutely could not fly, let alone play a sport on brooms. The girls chatted idly about nothing in particular for a little bit, before the conversation casually changed to more interesting things.

"So, Gin, I've been meaning to ask you…do you still, um, have _feelings_ for Harry? I mean, I know it's none of my business, and you don't have to answer, but I thought-"  
  
"Mione please, it's fine. We're _friends_, this is the sort of thing friends talk about," Ginny answered, smiling sweetly.

"Sorry. I've just never really been close with the other girls in my year. I guess we're friends, but I don't often have these conversations with them. So, you didn't answer my question. Do you?"

"Is it not obvious?"

Hermione shook her head. "Well, not so much as it was in, say, your first year. Or second, for that matter. O thir-"

"Ok ok, I get the point!" Ginny laughed. "But yeah, I guess I do. I s'pose it's not such a big deal like it used to be. I've gotten to know him more, so he's less 'famous Harry Potter' and more…well, just plain Harry."

Ginny looked up, and watched Harry a moment, smiling. She noticed Ron had worn those long sleeves _again_, though they were rolled up at the moment. Abruptly, she turned to Hermione, and her smile widened.

"What about you, then?"

"Excuse me?" 

"Oh c'mon, Mione! Ron…"

"Ginny! He's my best friend, and he's your _brother_!"

"And? I don't mind talking about it, so long as you don't get into the gruesome details."

"Well, you don't have to worry, because there are NO 'gruesome details'. There are no _details_ whatsoever." By now Hermione was distinctly blushing. Ginny found it rather amusing. She was the younger of the two, and yet she couldn't help but feel older at that moment.

"Hermione, there's nothing wrong with it. I mean, personally, I don't see it," Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ginny grinned. "but you can't really help it, can you?"

"That's easy for you to say, you don't fancy your best friend!"

"So you admit it!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Huh? No! No, that's not – I didn't mean-"

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Oh, they're finishing up their game. Listen, we can finish this conversation later on. I assume you'll be sleeping in my room, unlike last night? Which reminds me, where WERE you last night?"

"Ron's room," Ginny raised an eyebrow and giggled. "What? Oh! No, it's not what you were thinking. Harry was there too." This only caused Ginny to giggle harder. Hermione swatted her lightly, but smiled.

"What are you two laughing about?" Harry asked, coming up to the girls. They pulled themselves to a standing position, and followed the boys towards the house.

"Oh, nothing you need to know about," Hermione answered, smiling at Ginny.

"Right. Nothing at all," They started walking a little faster, whispering along the way. Ron came up to Harry, looking curious. He had rolled his sleeves down again. It had been safe up there on the broom…

"What was that all about?" He asked.

Harry shrugged. "No clue. Looks like they've developed quite a friendship, those two."

"Hmmm…my sister being friends with one of MY friends? Sounds like a horrible opportunity to conspire against me," Ron grinned and Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

"I pity you mate, I really do."

***

It was 8 o'clock at night, and Harry and Ron were in Ron's room. Harry had finally decided to ask Ron about the clothes again. He wasn't sure he was ready to bring up the scars. He wanted to give his friend a chance to explain himself.

"So tell me Ron, and be honest. Why _are_ you wearing clothes like that all the time?"

Ron tried to look busy by feeding Pigwidgeon, but Harry wasn't about to be deterred.

"Ron…?"

"Look, Harry, it's really nothing."

"But it doesn't make sense. There has to be a reason," Harry paused, giving Ron his chance. Seeing he was showing no sign of replying, Harry pushed on. "Ron, is there a reason?"

"No Harry, there isn't! Now drop it, alright?" 

Harry stood awkwardly by the window. Ron sat down on his bed, and stared at the carpet for a moment. Then, in a much more calm voice, he said, "It's only…it's the reason you never got my letters this summer," Ron looked up slowly, and saw Harry was looking at him quizzically. He shrugged and simpered under Harry's gaze. "That's all I can say right now. Sorry. I just…it's all I know."

Unfortunately for Harry, Hermione chose that moment to knock on the door.

"Are you two decent?"

"Yeah! Come in!" Ron answered, much to quickly, in Harry's opinion.

Hermione opened the door, and leaned on the doorframe. Seeing the looks on their faces, her expression changed from happy to concerned in a matter of seconds.

"What's happened?" She asked. 

Before Harry had the chance to answer, Ron said, "Nothing's happened. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go warn the twins about something. I heard mum saying they left a fake wand lying about again, and she didn't seem too happy." Quickly, Ron got up and pushed his way passed Hermione and down the stairs. 

Harry gestured to Hermione to shut the door, and she did so, then went to sit on Ron's bed.

"Alright Harry, now what _really_ happened?"

Harry, who was feeling quite frustrated at that moment, took a deep calming breath.

"First, I need to ask, have you noticed Ron's clothes?"

"You mean the long sleeves and all? Yes, of course. How could I not?"

"And have you, by any chance at all, seen any-" Harry stopped himself. He was about to say scars, but thought that if he mentioned it, it might worry her.

"Any what, Harry?"

Harry thought a minute, then decided he had no choice. He was worried, and as one of Ron's best friends, Hermione had the right to be worried as well. "I know it's a long shot that the answer's yes, but have you noticed any scars on Ron?"

Hermione was silent a minute. Then she nodded. "This morning. When you two were asleep. Ron's shirt was, um, up slightly, and I saw one…why? I mean, what's this got to do with-"

"There's more than just one. He had a few on his back, and at least one big one on his arm. I saw them this morning, while we were changing. I didn't see his front, mind you, but…"

"Oh Harry! There were _a few_?! How many? What is it, do you think? Did you ask? Did he tell you?"

"Hermione please! Calm down alright? I haven't told him that I know. I've asked about his clothes though. All he said was it had something to do with why we didn't get his letters this summer. He said that's all he knows, but he's lying."

Hermione sat silently for a second. She shook her head. "I don't understand."

Harry simply shrugged his shoulders. He didn't either.


	3. When Confronting a Weasley

It was a while before Hermione suggested she and Harry go downstairs and join the others, but when she did, Harry agreed.

"Hang on, let me just grab a few Quidditch magazines. You know, for something to do." 

Hermione nodded, and Harry went over to Ron's desk. Pig, seeing someone come close to him, started zooming around his cage in what he seemed to think was an impressive way. Harry smiled despite himself. He picked up the magazines, which he'd seen there the night before, and stopped short.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, coming up behind him. She peered over his shoulder. Sitting on the desk was a sealed envelope, as well as what looked like an unfinished letter beside it. The envelope was addressed to Harry, but the letter was written to Hermione.

"These must be the letters…the ones we never got. Because of…" Hermione trailed off, looking at Pig. She _knew_ Ron had lied, when he said Pig had messed up the delivery. 

"Should we…?" Harry looked at Hermione, raising an eyebrow. She thought a moment. 

"Didn't he say his, um, _clothes_ had something to do with the letters he never sent?" Harry nodded. "Well, perhaps if we read mine. The unfinished one. We won't open yours though, or he'll know." 

Slowly, looking over his shoulder in a paranoid sort of way, Harry picked up the letter.

It read:

Dear Hermione,

   How've you been? Good, I hope. Or as good as you can be, what with one thing or another. Thanks for owling me back so soon. So I'll see you in July then, will I? 

   Bill and Charlie are back. For good, I mean. They wanted to come home. They say it's because they just want to be here with us, but I think it's for other reasons. I won't get into that. It doesn't matter anyway. Sort of. It's only, my family . . . (the next sentence was scratched out so violently the paper was ripped)

 Sorry. Ignore that. It wasn't important.

   There's one more thing. I've already written to Harry and told him, and I reckon you should know too. Not that, I mean, it isn't very **important**, but I've been having . . . I've seen . . .oh, fuck it. This is pointless. I'm not going to send this. I know I'm not. I'm not sending Harry's either. Like I'd ever have the nerve. So fuck  it. 

This isn't right.

I hate this.__

Harry looked up at Hermione, wide eyed.

"Wow. That…well, it explains nothing but…wow." Hermione nodded, speechless. She looked at him, and he could see the concern in her eyes. She bit her lower lip. She had felt guilty about reading something that Ron obviously didn't want read, but that feeling had since passed, replaced with fear for her friend.

Deciding there was nothing they could do at the moment, they joined the Weasley's downstairs. They agreed before leaving the room that they'd confront him about it later on, when everyone else had went to bed.

"Oh, hey Harry, Hermione," Bill greeted them as they entered the over-crowded living room. "Where've you been?" 

It was an innocent enough question, but it made them uncomfortable. Nervously, they both glanced at Ron, who was at the moment sitting with the twins, talking nonchalantly. 

"We were just upstairs. Not really doing much," Hermione answered, looking back at Bill.

The next hour seemed to go by quickly enough. By 9 o'clock, both Mr and Mrs Weasley had retired to their room, as well as Percy, Charlie and the twins. Another hour after that, and Bill and Ginny headed to their rooms.

"Don't be too long, Mione. We still need to talk," Ginny said, and she bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time.

"I s'pose we ought to go up soon as well, eh?" When he received no response, Ron looked up from the Quidditch magazine he was flipping through. Harry was looking at Hermione, eyebrows raised, and Hermione was nodding. 

"What?" He asked, although he knew very well what. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Look Ron, we _know_ you don't want to get into this," Ron sighed and leaned heavily back in his chair. "But we're worried." Harry nodded his agreement.

"Why would you be so bloody worried?" Ron asked angrily. "They're just clothes-"

"I know why you wear them. The long sleeves, I mean," Harry interjected. Ron paled a little, then blushed, an odd contrast.

"Excuse me?"

"I saw. When we were changing. I turned around and I saw your back. There are about 5 scars there, in completely random places, and at least one on your left arm. I'm _sure_ there are more, too. That's why you've been dressing so warmly, to cover'em up."

As Harry spoke, Ron raked a hand through his hair once, then started to do it again, but instead he made a fist against his forehead, clutching his red fringe. He leaned forward in his chair.

"It's nothing," He said simply, and quickly got up, heading for the door. Harry leaped up and blocked his way.

"You're not going anywhere," He stood in front of the doorway, making it clear that he wasn't going to move. Ron glared.

"Ron," Hermione said quietly behind him. Ron turned to look at her. "Why…why are Bill and Charlie here? Is there a reason?"

Harry gave her a panicked look, but she ignored him. Ron looked thoughtful.

"They said they want to be here, just in case, you know, something were to happen. Because…because the war, it affects everyone." It felt to both Harry and Hermione that that was a rehearsed answer. 

"No, I mean, is there another reason. One that might, maybe, affect your family more…directly?" Ron stared at her. Harry took this opportunity to steer Ron towards a chair, then settle in one across from him. Ron, who looked more than a little dumbfounded, didn't even appear to notice.

"Why would you ask that?" He asked in a very quiet voice. He looked from her to Harry, then back again. His brow furrowed. "Hermione?"

"I just…" She glanced over at Harry, then changed wind. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. What matters is the scars. The secrets. You."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Where'd they come from?"

Ron just shook his head. "I don't know. They're just _there_. Probably a collective of scars from all the years I've known you, Harry. God knows we've been through enough to cause a few."

"You know that's not where they come from."

"How can you be so sure? I _was_ bitten by a dragon-"

"On your hand, which you make no attempt to hide, I see."

"I was dragged on my back by my arm by a giant dog in third year." Ron seemed pleased with himself. But Harry shook his head.

"I've never seen these, not since today. And they're pretty hard to miss, I must say." Ron looked defeated, and Harry felt sure he'd confide, or confess, or _whatever_, but he didn't.

"Ok, I get that you're just worried, but don't be. I'm fine. It's fine. Everything's just fine. Alright?"

"No, not alright!" Harry tried his best not to shout and wake the rest of the family, but this was getting to be ridiculous. "How would you like it if it were one of us? What if you'd seen scars on me, ones you've never seen anyway, and I refused to tell you about it? I know you, you wouldn't let up until I said _some_thing about it."

"That's different. That's very different. You, you're-" He stopped short. Harry knew what he was going to say. 'You're Harry Potter'. At first, he thought he stopped because he was afraid of how Harry would react, but something in his eyes said there was something else. Was it sadness? Or fear? Maybe a bit of both, Harry couldn't tell. Either way, Harry suddenly didn't feel frustrated anymore. He felt sympathetic. He rubbed his forehead. 

After a rather prolonged awkward pause, Harry decided to take the plunge.

"What's not right, Ron?" He asked. Such a funny question, really. It seemed to confuse Ron.

"I don't…I…what?" 

"You hate it…what's not right. Whatever **it** is."

"There are many things that aren't right, Harry, and many of those things I hate. Make sense, _please_."

Harry looked up at Hermione. He didn't say anything, but she knew what he was asking, and she nodded.

"Ron, we, that is, Hermione and I, we…we saw the letter. The one you wrote to her, that you weren't going to send."

Ron didn't look shocked, but he did look angry.

"You mean, you read it?"

"Well, in all fairness, it _was _written to me, and I-"

"Oh don't give me that bullshit! You knew I didn't want you to read that! I know you did, you're not that thick!"

"Well what choice did we have? You won't tell us any-"  
  


"I don't believe this…" Ron got up, and headed for the door.

"Ron, I'm sorry! _We're_ sorry! Don't go, we have to talk." Hermione pleaded. She seemed about to cry in desperation.

"Save it. Please." Both Harry and Hermione tried to stop him, but he pushed his way by.

He ran up to his room and grabbed the envelope and the letter, stuffing them in his pocket. He was just about to leave when the other two showed up at the door.

"Listen, Ron, this is important! Something's going on and we need to know what!" 

Ron just shook his head furiously. He needed to get out of this room, out of this house. He needed air…fresh air…He pushed his way by yet again, saying over his shoulder;

"Just let me think, please…I need…I need a minute to myself…" He sounded so sincere, that Hermione couldn't help but listen. She held Harry back.

"He'll be fine. He needs to think, like he said. Don't worry, we'll figure this out. We always do."

Harry just nodded.


	4. Why are you helping me?

Ron's POV:

I don't remember much between the moment they started confronting me and the moment I stepped outside. All I remember was feeling that gust of cold air, taking a deep breath and feeling suddenly very calm. My heart was still beating hard against my chest, almost painfully so, but I didn't feel like hitting anyone anymore, and that's what mattered, really.

Once outside, I ran through the yard, jumped the hedge and ran across the field. I stopped next to a tree and leaned against it, taking deep breaths. Three words kept running through my head;

_They know. Everything._

It was a terrible realization. The more I rationalized it, the worse it seemed. Everything was perfect, everything was fine, and they had to go and stick their noses where they didn't belong!

Well, I guess they don't know entirely everything, but they have an idea. This is Harry and Hermione, after all. They'll figure it out. They'll poke and prod and pry until I crack. But…but I won't. I won't crack. I haven't yet, have I? No…no, I haven't. And that's saying something, that's saying something…

I repeated that like a mantra.

But…it almost hurt just thinking about it. That feeling. . .the helplessness, the humiliation, the panic, the pain…but the worst of it all was the weakness…

I can't drag them into this! I can't! Neither of **them** would! 

Ah, but you're not them, are you? You're not Harry Potter. You're not Hermione Granger. You're just Ron. Ronald Weasley. Who's that? 

That voice. I hated it. But it seemed to be burned into my mind, somehow.

Maybe I should tell them…maybe they **do** deserve to know…

Oh, who am I kidding? I couldn't tell them if my life depended on it! I don't know why, I just can't! I'm just a fucking **idiot**. These are my best friends, I should be able to tell them anything, and yet…

Slowly, I pulled out the envelope from my pocket. I was sort of afraid to open it. I didn't want to see what I wrote. I didn't want to remember when I didn't have to. Carefully, fearfully, I glanced down and read it.

Dear Harry,

   I don't care what you have to say, Harry, you're coming this summer if I have to bust into your house and drag you kicking and screaming.

   Really, though, none of this, NONE of it, is your fault. At all. Trust me. I can't say I understand what your going through, or rather, if I said I did you wouldn't believe it, but I know that things will be ok. Things are always ok, in the end. Come to the Burrow. It'll get your mind, as well as mine, off of things.  

   Bill and Charlie are back for good. They decided to move back here, to be here in case something were to happen. Family support, you know? There are other reasons, I think, but that's a bit complicated to get into through a letter. Tell you when you get here, alright?

   There's something else I thought maybe you should know. I don't think it's very much a big deal. Well, maybe it is. I don't know. But I still think I should tell you. See, I have these scars. Not sure how many. About a dozen in total, maybe. And I don't really know where they're coming from. 

   Ok, that's a bold faced lie. I **do** know, but I'm not too keen to tell you. It's too weird. I guess I've got no choice but to tell you though, do I? I'm just stalling here…ok, ok, the thing is, I've been, well, having these dreams. Strange dreams. And I've seen…Ugh, I sound crazy. This is also a bit complicated to explain over paper, so I'll just talk to you **when you get here **(curious? All the more reason to come, then!). 

   See you soon, I hope,

                                Ron

PS  Sorry this has been a bit incomprehensible. You'll understand eventually.

Despite the seriousness of the entire situation, I had to laugh after reading that. 

I remember when I wrote these letters. Writing Harry's, everything came so easy. I remember thinking "I'll send these, and they'll come over and the three of us will discuss it and figure this out". But when I started writing Hermione's, something happened. Something inside. I don't know what. But I found everything came out sounding…wrong. I can tell just comparing the two letters.

Sending them would be wrong. It was betrayal, somehow.  

It was at this point that I sort of panicked. I ripped those letters up. I swore. I bit my lower lip, so much so it bled.

Betrayal…betrayal…what the hell? Who am I betraying? Not **him**. No. Not him because …because…because of what? **Was** I betraying him?

More panic. I ignored that sharp, stinging pain in my lip. I could taste the blood, I felt it trickle down my chin, but I didn't acknowledge it. Finally, after calming down, I forced myself to think rationally again.

No. Not him. Not him, because of Harry. Because of Hermione. Because of my family. Betrayal. What I'm doing now, **this** is betrayal. Secrets and lies, and for what? 

Fuck.

I sat there for a long time after that. It was hard. It was hard because I couldn't tell anyone, and I couldn't explain **why** I couldn't tell anyone. I didn't understand it myself, and that made it so frustrating. 

My memory of what happened for the next hour is very fuzzy. I might have cried. I might have swore some more. Maybe I just sat there. I don't know. My mind was either completely blank or completely over-loaded, I'm not sure which.

I know I fell asleep after the hour. I'm sure of that.

I know Hermione and Harry woke me up around 3 in the morning. I heard them, calling me. I had to force my eyes open, which is strange because I was very eager to wake. But once they were open, I found myself staring into a pair of green eyes. Harry was kneeling on my left, Hermione on my right.

"Ron…come on, get up."

No. No, I don't want to. Let me stay here. 

I must have lost my voice, I don't know, but I didn't actually say anything. I tried. But my thoughts just wouldn't come out in words.

"You've got to get up Ron."

You know that feeling you get, like knives thrusting into you over and over? 'Cause I got that feeling now. No? Well, it hurts like a bitch.

"Ron, please, please get up! For me?" Hermione looked anxious.

No…well, maybe for you…no, never mind. I'd rather stay here. You can stay with me, if you like. But I'm not going anywhere.

Still, I didn't say anything. I was aching all over. It wasn't a new occurrence, but it never seemed to get easier. 

"Are you hurt? Ron, answer me please!" It was Hermione again.

Hurt? Remember the knives thing? No, you don't, because I didn't tell you, because I'm not talking, because I'm a worthless fuck who doesn't deserve friends like you-

"You need help, don't you?" It was Harry's voice. I felt a little ashamed, at that moment, lying there, not saying anything, unable to get up on my own. Like a small child.

And there's the valiant Harry Potter, coming to save the day. To save you.

That damn voice was back. God, do I ever hate that damn voice.

"Ron, hey! Do you need help?" Harry again. I glanced at Hermione, who seemed close to tears. Ignoring that voice, swallowing whatever pride I had, I nodded. Harry and Hermione, never losing their understanding, if not confused and sad looks, each grabbed an arm, and helped me up.

Why are you here? Why are you helping me? I was horrible to you. You don't even understand what's wrong. You don't know why I was lying there. Why are you helping me?

Right then, I would have given anything to be able to talk. But I just couldn't. If I so much as opened my mouth, I would have…I don't even know.

But a second later, I was sort of happy about it, because we didn't need to talk right then. They didn't know what was happening to me. Hell, I didn't either, not everything anyways. But still, Harry gave me a half grin and clapped me on the shoulder. Hermione smiled tearfully, and wrapped her arm around my waist (for support, I'm sure), and we headed back to the house.

Somehow, through a haze of pain, I made it all the way up the stairs and into my room. I collapsed on my bed. I heard them whispering, undoubtedly about me. I heard Hermione say goodnight and slip out. I heard Harry shuffle around, probably fixing up his own bed and getting changed. I heard him call my name once. Twice. Three times, even. I felt a blanket drape onto me. Then it was very still and quiet, and I was alone with my thoughts.

Why are you helping me?

Why are you helping me?

Why aren't you helping me?

Why aren't you helping him?

Why aren't I helping him?

Aren't I helping him?

Oh God...


	5. Harry's 3 AM Revelation

Harry tossed and turned for at least an hour before finally falling asleep. He had mulled over the events of that night, trying to piece everything together, but without success.

After Ron had stormed out, Harry and Hermione spent a good hour or so in Ron's room, pacing, thinking, worrying, until eventually Harry saw how tired Hermione was and sent her to Ginny's room.

"You need to get some sleep. Plus, won't Gin be wondering where you are?" he had asked her.

"Yeah, I suppose…I'll have to make up an excuse…um…I'll tell her that I was showing you how to do…I dunno, some charm. It's something school related, so she can't blame me. Yeah, that's what I'll do…" Hermione trailed off as she headed towards the door. Once there, she said over her shoulder, "You'll come get me, when he shows up, right? Because I want to-"

"Yes, Hermione, don't worry. Now go to bed." And Hermione left. 

Harry plunked himself on Ron's bed. He thought long and hard, and determined that there was really two major questions that needed answering. 1) Why _else_ did Bill and Charlie move back in with the Weasley's, besides 'just to be with them'? And 2) Where were those damn scars coming from?

Harry couldn't answer the first question, or even speculate, really, but the second one…

Maybe he got into a fight. No, that wouldn't work. These aren't scars from a fight. Could they be…no…not self inflicted. Ron wouldn't do that, and besides, one or two were out of his reach. Perhaps someone else did it for him…oh please, Potter, use your head!

He thought about it until he could think no more, and soon he was fast asleep. The next thing Harry knew, he was being shaken by a very frantic Hermione. He blinked twice, then sat up, straightening his glasses. Hermione stood by the bed, wearing blue pajamas and a plaid robe. She was nervously twisting the belt to her robe around and around her finger.

"Mione…what's up?" Harry asked, still half asleep. 

"Did he…? Cause you never – and I got worried, and…"

"Wait, whoa whoa whoa! What's going on? Coherent sentences _please._"

"Ron never came back, did he?" she whispered fiercely 

And realization hit Harry over the head like an iron bat. He jumped up and rushed out the door, going down the stairs as quietly as possible, Hermione close behind. After a quick search of the back yard, the two went into the field just beyond. The first thing Harry noticed was the bits of white parchment scattered around. The second thing he noticed was the figure lying by the tree.

"Over there," he said, pointing. Hermione's eyes grew wide, and she ran. Harry followed suit, breathing hard. They both stopped abruptly as they reached Ron. He wasn't hurt. He was just…sleeping. He looked almost peaceful. Almost. There was dried blood on his shirt and lip, and his right hand clutched the bottom of his shirt so tightly his knuckles were white. This was an extremely disturbing sight, considering his face showed no sign of being afraid or sad or in pain.

Harry glanced at Hermione, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe we should wake him?" Hermione said, more of a question than a suggestion. Harry agreed and knelt on one side of him, Hermione on the other. 

Quietly, they both said Ron's name, until soon his eyes wrenched open. It appeared to be a difficult task on it's own.

"Ron…come on, get up," Harry waited. Ron was looking at him, but said nothing. He looked almost angry, but there was something else there, Harry could tell.

"You've got to get up Ron,"  Ron opened his mouth very slightly, but closed it again. Harry noticed that both he and Ron were breathing very hard now, though Ron's was a bit more ragged. He looked at Hermione, who's eyes were brimming with tears. She decided to give it a try.

"Ron, please, _please_ get up! For me?" Ron looked at Hermione, and his face did seem to soften. But he shook his head. Well, it was a response at least.

"Are you hurt? Ron, answer me _please_!" There was more blank, cold, angry staring.

Something suddenly occurred to Harry, perhaps because he knew him so well, perhaps because he was just being logical.

"You need help, don't you?" The reaction he got was much different from what he would have thought. Ron looked right past Harry, sort of up at the sky. Harry looked at Hermione, a little afraid, not knowing what to do. Hermione seemed about in hysterics now, and Harry would have reached over to pat her comfortingly or something, except Ron had very suddenly grabbed his hand. His face hadn't changed, except his eyes were wider, angrier.

"Ron, hey! Do you need help?" A quick glance at Hermione, and Ron nodded. Not saying a word, the two helped pull Ron to an upright position.

It was very strange to both Harry and Hermione, as they walked with Ron back to the Burrow. Neither of them knew what had just happened, and for a second Harry felt he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Whatever it was must have been awful. But no, he needed to know. He wanted to help.

And besides, Ron was, or appeared to be, alright. For the rest of the night, anyways. That's what mattered.

None of them spoke all the way upstairs, and Ron said absolutely nothing as he lay down on his bed, fully dressed, but obviously not caring. Harry looked at Hermione, and whispered,

"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him. I don't know what happened tonight, but whatever it was can wait until tomorrow. He…he needs to rest, I think." 

Hermione nodded and wiped her eyes. As an afterthought, Harry added,

"Maybe, if he doesn't start explaining things, we should write to Sirius or something. For help or advice, you know."

"Shouldn't we tell his parents, though?"

Harry thought about it. It certainly would be the _logical_ thing to do, but still, Harry shook his head.

"I don't think we should worry them, at least not now. If…_things_ get too bad, then we will. I just think we should give him the chance to…to…" Harry didn't know how to finish the sentence, but Hermione understood, and for once, she didn't argue.

"I guess your right. But if it does get bad, and Ron doesn't tell us anything, and even Sirius can't help, _we're telling them, _alright?" She may have been whispering, but she still managed to make it sound very fierce. He nodded. 

Hermione opened the door, then turned to look at Ron.

"Goodnight," she said softly. After receiving no response, she left the room.

Harry walked over to the cot the Weasley's had set up for him earlier that day. There was two blankets folded neatly, placed in the middle, and a pillow as well. He fixed up the bed, and kicked open his trunk. As he was searching for his pajamas, he called softly, for no particular reason,

"Ron?" But Ron stayed silent. He tried again, then once more as he was changing, but Ron never answered. He went to the bed and threw a blanket over his best friend, then climbed into bed, and was left alone with his thoughts and the quiet.


End file.
